Making Good Decisions

Sometimes a DNF (“did not finish” for those unfamiliar with race lingo) is a good decision. Yesterday’s DAMn DNF after 152 miles of 242.5 planned miles left me feeling a tiny bit disappointed but mostly just fine. (The DAMn -- Day Across Minnesota -- is a body- and mind-punishing 24-hour race across the state on gravel roads, starting at midnight in Gary, South Dakota and ending at Hager City, Wisconsin.)

 

I’ve been riding my bike my whole life (58 of my 63 years on this beautiful planet), and I almost always finish what I start. I’ve done bike races and cross country ski races since 1980, most recently bike races on gravel roads since 2012, and I’ve only DNFed two times before yesterday (the first after an irreparable tire blowout 46 miles into the 102-mile Almanzo in 2014; the second when I began descending into the grip of hypothermia in mid-30s sleet and rain and turned back, ultimately riding 92 miles of the planned 162 of the 2017 Royal). Since I started racing and loving the gravel-event scene at the September 2012 Heck of the North, I’ve probably ridden in something like 60 organized events, all of them hard and wonderfully challenging in their own way, none more so than The DAMn, so the decision to voluntarily pull the plug is highly unusual and not taken lightly.

 

I rode in and finished honorably in the first two versions of The DAMn (16^th place in 2017 in 16 hours and 42 minutes; 21^st place in 16 hours and 53 minutes in 2018), especially for an old guy (two months past 60 in 2018). My plan this year was to stay within my capabilities, ride as hard as I could sustainably, soak up the experience, and finish whenever my body could get me to the finish line, preferably in around 17 hours or a bit more. 

 

That I was on the start line at all was not really planned. Even though I loved my first two grueling DAMn experiences, I thought I had ridden my last DAMn in 2018. In a blog post I wrote about the 2017 DAMn, I talked of the likelihood that I would be doing fewer truly grueling things in the future: “I’ll likely do fewer Hard Things going forward than I have in recent years, as I want to make more time for other things that matter to me, including family, writing, and other creative pursuits. I also want to do everything possible to ensure that I can keep using my body for fairly physically hard things for many years yet.” I’ve mostly hewed to that intention, doing very few bike events, but getting back into backpacking (the Wind River Range, the Escalante Canyon twice, and the Superior Hiking Trail), harvesting wild rice (twice), doing more canoeing in the BWCA (including twice this summer), spending more time with my wife Anne, and generally seeking balance in life.

 

That being said, when Trenton Raygor announced to the world on November 25^th, 2020 that the 2021 DAMn would be the fifth and final version, I couldn’t help myself when registration went live on January 2^nd, 2021.

 

My initial thoughts after registering were “What have you done, you fool?!?” and “Baby, you have a looooong way to go to get ready for this thing.” At that point I was about 10 weeks into a painful, difficult, and lengthy recovery and rehab from rotator cuff surgery on October 22^nd, and wouldn’t be able to ride my bike outdoors for a few months yet. In addition, race day (August 14^th) is my anniversary, and I was less than thrilled about spending most of it away from my love, Anne, and being physically trashed after finishing, and she was even less thrilled than I was.

 

However, by August, I was feeling pretty confident in my level of fitness and was excited to experience the madness of The DAMn one last time. After being driven out to Gary, South Dakota and the start by friend and cycling buddy of about 28 years, Dave Strachan, along with Northfielders Galen M and Owen M, I was stoked when the fireworks went off at the Minnesota border at the stroke of midnight and I headed east into the star-spangled night along with 500 or so other DAMn fools, including a number of Northfield friends. 

 

The usual unique DAMn madness ensued. Flying through the dark night frequently at 20 to 25 mph on the first flat and slightly descending section of the course in tight formation on sandy, sketchy gravel, the first 28 miles passed like a fever dream, averaging about 20 mph. An excess of pre-ride coffee forced me to stop and pee at 28 miles, losing contact with a strong group of 12 or so I was working with at the time. A few other people picked me up after five or six miles, and we then hit the sandiest stretch of gravel I have ever ridden at mile 40, about a mile of what would have made a passable sand trap on a golf course, and the rest of the night was a blur of seeking out the most ridable line in almost-always sandy gravel, often by myself, occasionally with one to several others. 

 

I felt pretty good for the first four hours when I passed the 70-mile mark. However, I was riding unsupported this year, unlike my 2017 and 2018 rides, and rode longer than I should have to stop for a break at the first C store, a BP gas station in Morton at 5:10 a.m. at 85 miles. Those last 15 miles I felt like a zombie, even more so than I remembered feeling on that hauntingly beautiful section of the Sioux Trail along the Minnesota River the previous two rides. A handful of other unsupported riders were already there refueling, and more trickled in (including fellow Northfielder Phil B) over the 33 minutes I spent there. 

 

That was significantly longer than I planned, mostly because I felt wrung out and extremely chilly after about 15 minutes, and decided I needed to sit down and drink a cup of coffee indoors. An older gentleman sitting next to me playing solitaire was watching the grimy riders wander in and out and asked what was going on. We chatted for a few minutes as I sipped my coffee, and he wished me well when I departed.

 

Things picked up as I continued along the Sioux Trail. I was enough behind schedule from my previous DAMn rides that I was able to enjoy some pre-dawn miles in the Minnesota River valley as the sky began to lighten here for the first time in three tries, and my spirits were raised by the natural beauty and the prospect of the return of Old Sol. By the time I climbed out of the valley at the 95-mile mark on a nice bit of minimum maintenance road I’ve loved on all three DAMn rides, I was back in my usual groove and felt great. Riding on into the heart of the sunrise, I clicked past 100 miles at just over six hours. I rode for a few miles each with a couple of guys, both of whom had to stop for nature breaks independently, so my ride was pretty much solo from here on out. 

 

(Begin digressionary rant.) Something that struck me even more forcefully this year than on my previous DAMn rides was how completely dedicated to industrial agriculture this part of the state is. From the climb out of the Minnesota River valley at 95 miles to about 145 miles, the landscape is almost completely flat, and nearly 100% corn and soybean fields. As essentially all of these commodities go to animal feed and ethanol (and a bit of biodiesel) production, this is one giant meat and fuel factory. The prairie that sustained bison and an amazingly diverse ecosystem from the time of the last retreat of the mighty glaciers 12,000 years ago until the 1850s is not even a distant memory here anymore, which I find sad and lamentable, and something that I hope a more-mature civilization changes someday. Soon. (End of digressionary rant.)

 

Doubt and pain began creeping in around 140 miles. I was still feeling pretty decent, but I didn’t want to stop until the next C store option in Henderson at 152 miles. My pace dropped, and I was passed by several riders and didn’t have enough giddyup to jump onto any wheels. Along with the physical droop and psychological struggles I often have at roughly this point in a long, hard effort, I began second-guessing my decision to do the dang DAMn ride at all. This is not the proper state of mind for an event as hard as this. Merely completing the ride, let alone finishing strong, requires 100% commitment. At this point, that commitment was clearly lacking.

 

Anne, in spite of her grave concerns about my doing the ride, was gamely willing to pick me up at the expected 5:00 or 5:30 finish at Hager City, and take me from there to our planned anniversary night stay at an Airbnb 28 miles downriver at Reads Landing. As my pace slowed and my regrets about not prioritizing our anniversary over my desire to do one last DAMn ride increased, I realized I'd be finishing later than 5:30 and slowly came to the decision to call it quits at Henderson and get a ride home. Anne had urged me to call her at any point if I wasn’t able to complete the ride, so I planned to give her a call for the 42-mile taxi ride home. I could then take a shower, collapse for a short nap, and we could then enjoy the rest of our anniversary weekend together.

 

As I descended into the river valley, entered Henderson, and pulled into the Shell station on Main Street at 10:02 (151.55 miles, 10:02 total time, and 9:25 in the saddle at 16.1 mph), I felt no regrets about my decision, only relief. 

 

I stepped into the store to pick up a root beer before making the call home, and as I turned away from the cash register, came face to face with none other than Dave Strachan! Dave, after watching the DAMn start at midnight, had returned to the Buffalo Ridge Resort in Gary to get a good night’s sleep before driving back to Hager City to drop off Galen’s Jeep and ride his bike back to Northfield. Dave had stopped at the Shell station in Henderson to buy gas and was just pulling back out onto Main Street/Highway 19 when he saw me pull in! I quickly explained my decision to Dave, asked him if he could give me a lift home, and was extremely grateful when he immediately agreed. I couldn’t have been more grateful for Dave’s help and the remarkable timing of our coincidental meeting!

 

An hour later I was hugging Anne (even before taking a shower!). By 2:00, we were on our way to Reads Landing, where we proceeded to have a lovely afternoon and evening, including dinner on the patio at Reads Landing Brewing Company in the company of our 13-year-old cairn terrier Ruby. After sleeping like a dead man for nine hours, a stroll in beautiful downtown Reads Landing, a
drive on some old, familiar biking roads in the Nelson, Wisconsin area this morning, and brunch at Stockholm Pies, it feels good to be home and refreshed. 

 

“Make good decisions.” So says Joel Raygor, father of gravel race organizer extraordinaire and all-around great guy Trenton Raygor. (Edit: Joel's actual catchphrase is "Stay safe, have fun, and use good judgment." I'll stick with my paraphrase, though. :-)) Trenton, Joel, the rest of their family, and a team of dedicated volunteers have made The DAMn possible for the past five years. I’m eternally grateful for the amazing DAMn experiences they have facilitated for me and so many kindred spirits. I can now say with confidence that, even if someone else picks up the DAMn mantle and revives the race, I have ridden my final DAMn. I regret not getting a Trenton Raygor low five at the DAMn finish line, and all the good feels that come with being a DAMn Champion, but I’m at peace with pulling the plug on my ride yesterday. I have many wonderful memories of the day, and it was a good decision.

A Boy and His Van: Moby the Great White Van Is Road-Ready at Last!

Those of you interested in my van conversion project have no doubt been waiting with bated breath for news of the van’s completion. It’s only been… WHAT?!? TEN MONTHS AND 23 DAYS?!? …since I last wrote about my struggles to complete the conversion. In my defense, three days after that last blog post, I had a bit of a bike crash on September 5^th, and ended up with a badly torn rotator cuff (including two severed tendons that really kinda needed to be reattached), had surgery on October 22^nd, and spent about the next six months rehabbing my shoulder before I could do any significant work with that arm. 

The winter-long layoff on the project got me to fretting about the sole remaining major task, plumbing in the kitchen sink, water heater, and shower, and my utter incompetence to complete these tasks. I had been no more competent to accomplish anything else on the van project, of course, and had still managed to muddle through. For some reason, likely the many idle months, the thought of doing the plumbing work really messed with me. After those months of fretting, I finally decided that I would pay someone more competent than myself to accomplish these tasks, and found my man in Doug of RV Repair & Renovation in rural Medford, who told me he could fit the work in between larger projects “sometime in May.” May turned into June, but Doug finally turned the van back over to me late in the month, leaving only some finishing details to complete.

I’m beyond thrilled to report that Moby the Great White Van (henceforth to be known as Moby) is now 100% done and ready to hit the road!
Though I didn’t do all the work on the project myself (besides the plumbing, I also hired out some body work to address cancerous rust to Valley Autohaus), it still feels like a major accomplishment to have this sucker done.

 

Here are a few details on the build should you have any interest in reading on:

• ·      All the power for the van (for 12-volt lighting, mini-fridge, plumbing system pump, and inverter for 120-volt plug loads, including the seven-gallon mini water heater, two-burner induction countertop stove, phone chargers, speaker, etc.) is provided by two 100-watt Renogy solar panels and the 170 amp-hour Renogy lithium-iron phosphate battery they charge. No propane or other fossil fuels needed (other than the diesel fuel to move the rig down the road, of course…).

·      Most of the lumber and other wood used is reclaimed, including the cedar fence planks
used to finish the walls.

·      The cabinet countertops are made from raw ash lumber I purchased from Glenn Switzer at the Workshop at the Gardens (from a tree harvested on-site at Switzer’s Nursery).

·      The tiny fold-down table is made from black walnut milled from a tree that blew down on my father-in-law Loren Larson’s property in Walden Place many years ago. Loren provided major assistance in making the countertops and table!

·      The van walls and ceiling are insulated with 2” to 4” of two-part polyurethane foam insulation (roughly R-13 to R-26).

·      There is no air conditioning (other than for the cab of the van), but there is a 10-speed ceiling fan that can move air in or out, which provides good ventilation coupled with the two screened windows.

·      There is a huge amount of storage space under the queen-sized bed, including room for two bikes.

·      The flooring is Marmoleum Click tiles (made from all natural materials).

·      The tiny shower stall also houses a composting toilet (made by Nature’s Head).

 

Anne and I are ready to take Moby on the road Wednesday for a quick one-night shakedown outing to Duluth and the North Shore and have multiple adventures planned for the near future. Onward!